


Hydra Addams

by lilnome



Category: Addams Family - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark!Harry, Fem!Harry, Gen, Sane!Voldemort, Slytherin!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-01-11 20:57:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18431963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilnome/pseuds/lilnome
Summary: Hydra Hysteria Addams and Holly Hyacinth Potter are one and the same, are, at least, they were, once. Now, Holly had been raised an Addams, and it's time for her to go to Hogwarts. Watch, as one little witch shakes Magical Britain to it's roots.





	1. Chapter 1

Morticia strolled into Gomez’s study, her daughter balanced on her hip. Her husband was watching his trains speed along their tracks with a manic glint in his eye. She smiled softly at the sight. After the model locomotives crashed, he set down the controller and looked to her.

“What a wonderful crash, eh Tish?” He chuckled.

“Indeed, Qeurido. I come bearing the most wonderous news. She bounced Wednesday slightly.

“Oh? Has another world war begun?” He bounced on his heels like a child on Yule morning.

“Not that wonderous, dear. Cousin James and his wife, Lily, have passed away. Just moments apart, too.” Gomez smiled.

“Ah, how romantic! What of their daughter? Holly, wasn’t it? Beautiful name. A pretty plant, but highly deadly.”

“The girl lives. I believe that we should claim her. She’s about a year younger than Pugsley, and has no other real living family to speak of. At least, no magical family. Her mother’s sister is an _ananis_ , and, from what I remember of the wedding, quite hateful. I shudder to think of what she would do to the poor girl.” Morticia frowned. The very thought of someone harming a child, especially one of their blood, infuriated her.

“We can go tomorrow, Tish. I’m sure Mama wouldn’t mind watching Wednesday and Pugsley for the night! And our little Lilith would love some time with her Grandmother, right Wednesday?” He cried with his usual exuberance, scooping his daughter into his arms, and bouncing her on his hip. The girl scowled at him, and continued to suck on the poison-dipped rattle her mother had given her earlier. Morticia smiled at the sight. Soon, their little family would grow once more…

X0X0X0

Petunia was furious. How dare her sister just up and die, leaving her brat to such upstanding _normal_ people as her family?! Weren’t freaks supposed to live longer, and be immune to _normal_ illnesses? But no, she now had to take care of some freakish child, who was far too quiet, and who’s eyes were too green and knowing. At first, she had hoped the girl was normal, unlike her freakish parents. That hope was quickly dashed when the girl made a bottle float towards her when Petunia had gotten distracted listening in on a row between Mr. and Mrs. Three. The little hope she still held, that maybe the girl could control herself was destroyed when her hair began to change colors. She had felt hate rise within her, and decided than and there that she wanted as little to do with the girl as possible, and stuffed her into the cupboard under the stairs. Out of sight, out of mind. She had then started on dinner, and thought of what to tell Vernon. As she pulled the roast from the oven, she heard a knock at the door. Maybe it was her latest package from Sears. She did so love catalogue shopping. She turned off the oven, and made her way to the door. Petunia opened it and shrieked. Standing there were two freakish looking people. The woman was pale as a sheet, with long dark hair, blood red lips and nails, and eyes that seemed empty and devoid of life. The man had on a suit that reminded her of old-fashioned prison clothes. It was loose, and striped in black and white. He had a pencil thin mustache, and dark hair, slicked back. His eyes were as dark as the woman’s, but held a glint that unnerved her.

“Pardon me, but are you Petunia Evans?” The woman’s voice was soft, but held something that unnerved Petunia. It reminded her of a knife wrapped in velvet.

“Dursley, actually. May I ask who you are?” She sniffed. She had abandoned that name at the first opportunity.

“My name is Gomez Addams, and this is my lovely wife, Morticia. We were informed that you have custody of our niece, Holly, and were wondering if we might check on her.” The man bounced on his feet like an over-excited toddler. Petunia had a wonderous idea.

“Of course, please come in.” She stepped aside. “Would you like some tea?”

“Ah, no thank you.” The woman moved with an unnatural grace. The two settled onto the loveseat in the lounge.

“Allow me to fetch her. I’ll be just a moment.” She stepped back into the hall, and smiled to herself. This would work, else she had no clue what to do with the brat. She stooped slightly and picked up the brat. The girl just looked up at her with a calm, passive gaze. She re-entered the lounge, trying not to drop the brat, despite her dislike of her niece.

“Oh, Gomez, isn’t she just adorable.” The woman cooed, scooping the brat from her arms. “Such brilliant eyes.” She settled back onto the loveseat, smiling down at the girl.

“I’m not actually sure that Vernon, my husband, and I will even be able to keep her. Vernon just got a new job, and we have our own son to take care of, Dudley. We may have to put her in an orphanage.” Petunia fretted.

“If need be, we could take care of her, right Qeurido?” Morticia glanced at her husband.

“Of course, Tish! Why, Wednesday would be thrilled to have a sister!” The man cried. Through all this, the baby kept quiet, glancing around the room.

“Why, I couldn’t possibly ask you to take care of her. Children can be so expensive.” Petunia sneered in her head. Who would name a child _Wednesday_ of all things?

“Think nothing of it! We could easily afford a dozen children, right Tish!?” The man-Gomez-was far too loud.

“Of course, Gomez. Really, Petunia, we insist. This way, your son and Holly both get the care they need.” The woman attempted to reassure her.

“If you’re certain. I just want her to get all the love she deserves.” Petunia gagged internally.

“Of course, we’re certain. She’s family after all! Now, where are her things?” The woman smoothed a hand over the girl’s hair, which had faded to the same shade of black as hers.

“Allow me to fetch it. All she has is a blanket and a small diaper bag.” Petunia scuttered out of the lounge, and scrambled to gather the girl’s things from the cupboard. Nearly half an hour later, she watched the odd family leave her home, and heaved a sigh of relief. With luck, she’d never have to see any of those freaks ever again.

X0X0X0

With a loud pop, Morticia, Gomez, and Holly landed in the entry hall of the Addams’ family home.  The three headed towards the kitchen. Strapped into an electric-high chair was Wednesday, while Lurch stood behind her and Grandmama worked at a cauldron.

“Hello, dearies! Is this the little dear? Oho, her magic is delightful! Such a deep gray! She’ll fit right in! I’ll finish dinner and then prepare the adoption ritual! Lurch! I’ll need my extra-large lead cauldron from the attic! It’s a good thing I stocked up on belladonna last week. For now, we eat!” The hag-woman cackled, waddling into the kitchen. Gomez strode over to Wednesday, and swung her into his arms.

“How is my little Lilith, hm? Say, Mama, where’s Pugsley?” Gomez’s words came out a little slurred, as Wednesday had his mustache in her grip, pulling tight.

“Sleeping by the hearth. Dinner’s ready!” Mama plunked a medium sized cauldron onto the table. Morticia set Holly in her lap, and took the bottle Lurch offered. The family soon settled into dinner, all the adults excited for dinner. At one point, Wednesday had thrown a senbon at her new sister, which had gone off course when Holly had glared at it. A few minutes later, Pugsley had bitten her leg, and she had kicked him in the face, leaving a small gash in his brow. Brother and sister had babbled at one another for a minute before resuming their meals. Apparently, they had decided they liked her.

X0X0X0

The adoption ritual was simple. The girl was placed up to her chest in a burbling black philter, made primarily of carnations, grave dirt, and water from the main fountain in the yard. The girl giggled and splashed the potion, not concerned about the foul scent. Morticia and Gomez each held a child, and stood in a triangle around it, with Mama at the final point. Morticia drew the family black rhodium athame, and gently sliced her finger tip, letting thirteen drops fall into a chalice of the same metal. She gently pricked Wednesdays, allowed the blood to drop, and passed the athame and chalice to her husband, letting her daughter suck the blood from her cut. Gomez repeated the process, passing the tools to Mama. Once the hag-woman had bleed into the chalice, she gently poured it into a baby bottle, before feeding half of it to Holly. Once the baby had drunk the necessary amount, Mama pulled the bottle away. Holly was encompassed in a black aura, which seemed to suck the light from the candles in their holders. Her eyes darkened several shades, and her hair changed from messy auburn to silky black. Over all, she looked like a blend of all four parents. She giggled, and reached for her mother. Morticia cooed, sweeping her up. With a daughter on each hip, she turned to Gomez.

“Oh, Querido! She could pass for Wednesday’s twin if Wednesday was a few years younger!”

“That she could, Tish.” He chuckled. “Mama, could you take Pugsley?” The hag took Pugsley, and Gomez took his new child. “Mama, as tradition, you should name her. You are matriarch.” Gomez kept his voice quiet as he swaddled the infant in a soft back shroud.

“Little one.” Mama spoke, staring her new granddaughter in the eye. “You shall be named Hydra Hysteria Addams, third of your name.” The newly named Hydra gurgled, yanking her grandmother’s hair.

“She loves it!” Gomez crowed, eyes gleaming in the candlelight. Not an hour later, Hydra fell asleep in a crib with her new brother and sister.

“Something tells me that our family is not complete yet, Querido. Shall we remedy that?” Morticia looked at her husband over her shoulder on her way out of the nursery. The imp like man bounded after her, and the children slept to the sounds of screams.


	2. A Letter, Shopping, And a Train Ride

Hydra sat in her bay window, staring out at the trees bent near double in the wind. She listened to the hail pound against the window. The youngest Addams watched the tawny owl struggle to fly, aiming for her window. She smiled, and eased open one of the panes of glass. The sopping fowl dropped onto her chaise, only making halfway to the perch she kept in her room.

 

“Poor dear. Let me take that, you rest.” She cooed at the panting bird. She untied the letter from its leg, and cast a drying charm with a flick of her wrist. Hydra helped the exhausted avian settle into a nest made of a blanket. As Hydra descended the grand stairs to the main parlor, she slid a dagger beneath the seal on the envelope, and pulled out the parchment inside. She skipped the header, two-thirds of which was the headmaster’s titles.

 

_Dear Miss Addams,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have received a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins September first. We await your owl by no later than August fifteenth._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall,_

_Deputy Headmistress._

 

“What do you have, Belladonna?” Her mother queried, emerging from the greenhouse room.

 

“Another acceptance letter, Mama. Hogwarts this time.” Hydra offered her mother the letter, glancing over the supply list. Most of the things could be purchased in New York, but the robes were a purely British item. Another sign of how backwards magical Britain was, in her opinion.

 

“That makes all two well-reputed schools, Belladonna. Have you decided where you wish to go?” Her mother smoothed a hand over her black hair, pulling out one of Cleopatra’s leaves.

 

“Of course, she has. Knowing Hydra, she’s decided what she wants for breakfast thirty years from now.” Wednesday called from the top of the stairs. She wasn’t wrong. Hydra was a rather decisive young lady. She liked her family. She did not like most anyone else. She liked magic. She did not like sweet things. She liked performing her rituals. She did not like being called evil for doing so by the other children at school.

 

“What’s all this about?” Papa asked, entering the room. He bounded over to Morticia, wrapping an arm around her waist.

 

“I got a Hogwarts letter. I’ll be going there instead of Ilvermorny. We’ll need to visit Diagon Alley beforehand to get my uniform and robes.” Hydra thought.

 

“Oh Tish! That’s a child in one of each of the European schools!” Gomez cried, twisting his wife to face him.

 

“Indeed, Querido. This calls for a waltz. Lurch, if you so please.” Lurch groaned, sat down at the harpsichord, and began a basic waltz. Hydra smiled at her parent’s antics and turned to make her way back to her room. She had a reply to write.

 

X0X0X0

 

Britain, unlike most other magical enclaves, had only one shopping center, likely due to their biased views of magical affinities. Diagon Alley was accessed through a lovely little pub, and filled with an eclectic assortment of people. Some wore robes, others muggles suits, others still wore Victorian era dresses (not all of them witches). Hydra was accompanied by her mother and Grandmama. The trio split, Mama grabbing Hydra’s books, Hydra getting her robes, and Grandmama purchasing her required potions things, plus a little extra.

 

Twillfit and Tattings was a decent sized store, with half a show floor, the other half filled with half a dozen fitting platforms, each having a small changing room and love seat beside it. She made her way to a fitting platform, ignoring the stares of several severe looking ladies. An attendant scuttled over, a bag, presumably full of pins and the like, floating behind her.

 

“Good afternoon. My name is Joanne Clearwater, what can I assist you with today?” She was blonde and perky. Ugh. Still, _manners maketh man_ , as Mama taught her.

 

“I am Miss Hydra Addams. I require a half dozen robes, fitted; and a dozen full Hogwarts uniforms, custom made. All the highest quality. I’d like to pick them up today, if possible.” The woman nodded, and began taking Hydra’s measurements. She was told her robes and uniforms would be done in two hours’ time. Within half an hour, she was done, and making her way back to the Leaky Cauldron. Her mother and grandmother joined her a few minutes later, each carrying a shrunken package.

 

“Have you gotten everything, belladonna?” Her mother asked, voice soft and silken as ever.

 

“My robes won’t be ready for some time yet. Shall we visit Knockturn?” She asked.

 

“I do need more lambs blood for a potion.” Grandmama rasped.

 

“To Knockturn, then.” Morticia declared, placing a hand on Hydra’s shoulder, guiding her to the Alley needed. Grandmama tottered along behind them, the three reminding all traditionalists of the maiden-mother-crone.

 

X0X0X0

 

Platform nine and three-quarters was loud, and the train was an eye-watering red. There was a family of redheads, the dumpy woman making a spectacle of herself, sobbing and draping herself on her children. Hydra activated her mage sight, and winced. Most of the students were some shade of gray, while the adults leaned to light. A few adults were darker, but not many. The train was layered with dozens of enchantments, creating a miasma of color. She shut down the mage sight, shaking her head slightly to clear her vision.

 

“Are you ready, Belladonna?” Her mother asked, petting her hair, which was pulled into a tight chignon, with a pair of senbon stuck through the bun. “If you wish, we can still send you to Ilvermorny.”

 

“Or even Beauxbatons, if you so wish.” Her father spoke, slightly calmer than usual. “You could even join Pugsley, at Durmstrang.” Hydra sighed. Her parents were so overprotective.

 

“I’m sure, Papa. After all, I already accepted my invitation, and it would be rude to not show. You and Mama always taught me,”

 

“ _an Addams is never rude_ ” The trio chimed.

 

“You’re right, as always. Besides, both your siblings’ schools have already started for the term. Know this, you can write us at any time, should you need us.” Her father conceded with a sigh. He pulled a cigar from his pocket, and puffed on it morosely.

 

“Expect a care package every Tuesday and Thursday, belladonna. We shall see you on All Hallows Eve. Until then, ma fille cherie. Not now, Gomez.” Morticia crouched slightly, and hugged her youngest tight.

 

“Goodbye, Mama. Goodbye, Papa. I love you both. Farewell, Lurch.” Hydra hugged her parents, nodded to Lurch (who had returned from putting her trunk on the train), and climbed onto the steam engine.

X0X0X0

Heir Blaise Eveningshade-Zabini was both bored and excited. He was bored of his mother’s lecture on how to behave. He was excited because he was finally starting at Hogwarts.

“Blaise!” His mother hissed, her dark hand grabbing his arm.

“What?” He asked. This was odd. His mother was the definition of a proper pureblood lady. She was always composed and polite, her appearance always impeccable. This was not how his mother behaved. Her gaze was dark and unreadable, her grip painfully tight.

“ _Do you see that family, Blaise?_ ” His mother asked in Italian. He followed her gaze, and saw a family of three, four if the inferius-like butler counted. The woman looked like his mothers one vampiric acquaintance, so pale was her skin against her dark dress. The man looked like a nineteen-twenties muggle stock broker, though his eyes held an unholy light. The girl was the one who caught and held his attention. Her hair was a deep auburn, with streaks if a darker shade. Her eyes were an endless hunter green, and her skin a shade darker than her mother’s. She hugged bother her parents, and made her way to the train.

_“What about them?”_ He asked in the same tongue.

_“Those are the Addams', my son. Befriend the girl, or, at the least, do not anger her. Now go. I love you, my son. Be safe.”_ She dropped a kiss to his brow, and gently pushed him forward. Blaise nodded to his mother, and stepped onto the train.

X0X0X0

The interior of the train was a dreadful scarlet, with gold trim and a rich teak wood. Hideous, really. She settled into a corner in an empty compartment, and gazed out of the window, watching the people on the platform. A blonde family was talking, sneering at the redheads from earlier. They all registered as a slightly darker gray. She looked up at a knock on her door.

“Enter.” She called. The door opened to reveal a boy her age. He wore traditional pure-blood black robes, and he had a mix of African and Italian features. His skin was a rich mocha, and his hair a ravens-wing black, tied back into a short ponytail. Overall, he was dressed as the perfect pureblood heir. How droll.

“Pardon me, may I sit here?” He asked. He had a slight Italian accent, that reminded her of some of her cousins on her Papa’s side.

“Please, have a seat.” She gestured to the unoccupied bench opposite her. “I am Lady Hydra Addams. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She stood and bobbed a polite curtsy.

“Heir Blaise Eveningshade-Zabini. The pleasure is mine, Lady Hydra.” The boy stood, bowed, and held her hand just below his mouth for the exact, proper three seconds. The two settled down, and smiled. Soon, the two nobles were chatting politely.

“My family is rather large. Mine is the main branch, and my father Lord Gomez Addams. My grandmother, however, is still Matriarch, and runs the family. Mama has tutored my siblings and I extensively in both witchcraft and wizardry, along with proper etiquette. Uncle Fester taught us the family history, while Lurch taught us music. What of your family?” Hydra sipped at the thermos of steaming hemlock, gazing at him over the brim.

“My mother has been bonded four times. I am the son of her second husband. I have no siblings, though I have several adoptive aunts and uncles. I’d love a large family, to be honest.”

“Ah, a black widow. How charming. We had one try to take out Uncle Fester last summer. She was a dreadful woman. She wore pastels.” Both grimaced. Suddenly the door was slammed open, revealing a grungy looking redhead.

“Oy, either you seen Potter, slimy snake?” He sneered at Blaise. Hydra tutted. How rude.

“I say, have you no manners?” She asked, capping her thermos.

“The bloody hell, who are you?” He scoffed, turning red.

“This, Weasley, is Lady Hydra Addams.” Blaise’s tone was condescending, as if he knew he was better than this boy. “Lady Hydra,” He turned towards her. “Is Ronald Weasley, sixth son of the Weasley family.” Hydra quirked a brow.

“No title?” Blaise smirked, and Weasley began to match his hair.

“The family was considered Noble, bordering on Ancient, until the Lord of the family made a grave mistake.” He glanced at the ginger over his shoulder. “He tried to force a muggle born to marry him, while already bonded.” Hydra gasped. Marriage was awful as is, but to marry whilst already bonded was a crime against Mother Magic!

“What do you know! You’re both just dirty Death Eaters! I’m betrothed to the Girl-Who-Lived! I’m going to be the next Lord Potter! Just you wait, I’ll-” They never did learn what he intended to do, as Blaise slammed the door in his face.

“My apologies for my country man’s discourteous behavior, Lady Hydra. His mother was a Prewitt, and should have taught him better.” Hydra smiled. At least her new friend had manners.

“You needn’t apologize for his uncouth behavior, Heir Eveningshade-Zabini. Now, I must ask, how did your mother dispose of her husbands? I do so enjoy hearing of the exploits of others.” Blaise was mildly stunned. Most avoided him due to his mother’s reputation.

“Well, her first husband, from what she’s told me, was a bit messy.” There. Best let her back out now, in case she was unsure.

“Oh? Do tell.” Hydra’s grin was positively feral. And really, he didn’t mind.

X0X0X0

“-handed the corpse of number four off to an old friend. She says number five may go that way as well.” Blaise (as he had given her leave to call him) shrugged, before stabbing an escaping chocolate frog with his dagger.

“If she needs, I’m sure Mama could provide a few untraceable potions as well. Oh, how may we help you?” Hydra looked at the girl who had wrenched open the compartment door in mild surprise.

“Have either of you seen a toad? A boy named Neville has lost one.” The girl had her bushy hair down, and her uniform skirt was a good inch shorter than proper. Hydra pursed her lips. This girl would be eaten alive.

“My dear, forgive my presumptuousness in asking, but are you a muggleborn?” The girl’s hair puffed out, the ends crackling with magic. “None of that. I merely wish to help. Magical society is far more strict than mundane. Now, come in. I believe you need some help. Blaise, step out for a moment, please.” Blaise nodded, face red at the sight of the girl’s hair.

“Why did your friend have to leave?” The girl demanded.

“Lesson number one. A proper witch keeps her hair tied up at all times. Sit down, on the ground, back to me. I’ll fix your hair for you.” The girl complied, clearly bursting with questions.

“Why does my hair have to be up?” She huffed.

“A witch can store her magic in her hair. Besides, the physical body reflects the state of the magical. Only a witch’s Lord (what you would call a husband) may see her hair down. To leave one’s hair loose is an act of scandalous impropriety.” Hydra summoned a brush and a bottle of hair potion from her trunk. The potion was a blend usually kept in the family, but with her plans, that didn’t matter. “Now, what is your name?” Hydra asked, dumping a good dollop of potion onto the girl’s hair.

“I’m Hermione, Hermione Granger. What did you put in my hair?” Hermione asked, curious.

“My name is Lady Hydra Addams. I used a potion designed to smooth, strengthen, and straighten hair. One of my Grandmother’s potions. Hold still, Miss Granger. Now, a brief lesson in propriety. When you meet someone, introduce yourself as ‘Miss Hermione Granger’, never state your first name twice. It is presumptuous, and comes off as others needing to know who you are before you ever meet. Most of those you meet at Hogwarts will introduce themselves as ‘Heir’ or ‘Heiress’. They are to be referred to as ‘Heir’ or ‘Heiress’, then their family name. Some will introduce themselves as ‘Lord’ or ‘Lady, then their first names. They are to referred to as such. The only exemption to this rule is if they give you leave to refer to them by their first names. To refuse to do so is a great slight on them, their family, and their family honor. It is to say that you find them less than reputable, and do not wish to associate yourself with them. Do you follow?”

“I believe so.” Hermione tried to nod, before remembering that Hydra had her hair in her hands.

“Good. Now, you purchased your uniform at Madam Malkin’s, yes?” Hermione hummed in confirmation. She was near boneless. She never brushed her hair, as that just made it worse. It felt fantastic. “I can quickly alter the one you have. Next year, go to Twillfit and Tatting’s. Malkin’s skirts are always just a hair too short to be proper. A proper witch does not show her knees or anything above that. Mine fall to my shins, and there is less than an inch gap between the hem and my socks.” Hydra summoned two hand mirrors, and handed Hermione one. “Is this good?” She angled the mirror to show the simple braided bun she had created with Hermione’s once riotous frizz.

“I love it. Thank you, Hy-Lady Hydra. I need to find Nev-Heir Longbottom. He was the one who lost his toad, and I agreed to help him find it. Will I see you at Hogwarts?” Hermione stood, brushing off her skirt.

“I insist that you return here as soon as you find Heir Longbottom’s toad. There’s much you still need to learn. Hurry back, Miss Granger.” Hermione smiled, revealing slight buck-teeth.

“Please, call me Hermione.”

“Then please, call me Hydra.”


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione returned thirty minutes later with a slightly pudgy blond boy trailing behind her. Hermione’s hair was still slicked in the braided bun, and her skirt was still sitting properly. The boy’s eyes were slightly red, as if he had almost cried, or cried and since calmed down. He was clutching a toad tightly in one hand, and the poor thing was looking a little squished. She narrowed her eyes. Something was familiar about the boy, but she couldn’t place it. She gently activated her mage sight, and scowled. His magic was a neutral shade of gray, that leaned towards dark, but looked faded, like it was being forced towards light. The wand poking out if his pocket shimmered like it held unicorn hair. That was bad. Unicorn hair didn’t bond more than once, and never with a darker wizard or witch.

“Ah, hello, Heir Longbottom. Hydra, this is Heir Neville Longbottom, heir presumptive to the Ancient House of Longbottom, and the Noble House of McKinnon. Heir Longbottom, meet Lady Hydra Addams, of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Addams.” Heir Longbottom squeaked, squeezing his toad tighter.

“Greetings.” She murmured, rising to curtsy slightly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Heir Longbottom.”

“The-the pleasure-” The boy gulped, before steadying himself. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Hydra. I owe you my thanks for aiding Miss Granger, as I was unsure how to help her myself.” He froze again when she held out her hand. He shook a little when he held it just under his mouth, and pulled away a little too fast to be proper. They’d have to work on that.

“Please, won’t you both sit down?” Hydra sat back down, and gestured to the open seats in the carriage. Hermione plopped down next to her, while Heir Longbottom shoved himself into the corner next to Blaise, opposite her.

“Hydra, you said there was more I needed to know?” Hermione asked, pulling at her cuticles.

“Indeed. First, stop playing with your nails. It is most unbecoming. A magical’s hands are their tools. You will need to keep your nails short, less than three-quarters of a centimeter past your fingers end, past half a centimeter, however. They will be kept rounded, smoothed, and buffed. You will not paint them. Your cuticles will be pushed up, and trimmed when necessary. You will use lotion, and you will wear gloves from the moment September ends to the moment April begins. Do you understand?”

“Nails kept neat and not painted, cuticles cared for, no nail polish, use lotion, wear gloves for a ridiculous amount of time.” Hermione recited back.

“Good. Next, _you will not wear cosmetics_. Make up is cheap and mundane. If you wish to wear makeup, I will show you several basic cosmetic charms. Not glamours, but charms. Third, never accept a gift from a pureblood male if you are unsure of his intentions. Many would take advantage of an uneducated new-blood.”

“What is a new-blood. I thought I was a muggleborn?” Hermione reached for her hands, before fisting them in her skirt. All the other three winced. “What?”

“That is a placating term, do not refer to yourself as such. There are pure-bloods, half-bloods, new-bloods, and mud-bloods. Pure bloods are those who have four generations or more of magical blood. Half-bloods are those who have a mud-blood parent and a pure-blood parent, or a magical parent and a mundane parent. New-bloods are those of mundane parents, who are the descendants of _ananis_ , who have accepted that they are magical, and attempt to adjust to magical society. Mud-bloods are those of the same ancestry as new-bloods, who refuse to accept magical society, and attempt to model it into a copy of mundane society. Because of mud-bloods, most holy celebrations are now illegal.”  Holly lectured.

“So, because I want to learn, I’m a new-blood?” Hermione spoke slowly, trying to process.

“Not quite. All new-bloods must be sponsored by a family holding the title of ‘Ancient’ or ‘Noble’. The new-blood must then spend at least thirty consecutive days with that family each year, learning all they can from them. It is a symbiotic relationship.” Blaise explained like he had read the words verbatim in some dusty old book.

“How is it symbiotic? The family has to take care of another child for a full month every year. That hardly seems mutually beneficial.” Hermione crinkled her nose.

“Stop scrunching your nose, Hermione. You need to take basic Occlumency training. I’ll send home for a book we keep in the library for such a need. Your emotions are too obvious, keep it up, and you’ll be eaten alive.” Hydra reached into a pocket and handed Hermione a black lace folding fan, keeping one for herself. “If you _must_ fidget, use this. Heir Longbottom, your mother’s family sponsored the last Lady Potter, correct?” The blond nodded. “Could you explain to Hermione what sponsorship entails?”

“Well, it really depends on the family. The basics are easy enough. The sponsor family must pay for the new-bloods education, supplies, and uniforms. Their home must always be open to the new-blood, no matter the situation. They can’t force the new-blood to be bonded to their children. Let’s see, they have to defend the new-blood if they get in a duel, or if someone declares a blood feud against them. Those are the basics, I think…Oh! They can’t take in a new-blood for the sole purpose of a bonding with a member of the house.” Neville ticked off the requirements on his fingers.

“What does that mean? ‘Bonding’? It sounds to me like marriage.” All three winced.

“Miss Granger, marriage and bonding are two _very_ different things.” Blaise said, voice sharp.

“Well then what’s the difference?” Hermione huffed.

“Where marriage is considered holy and a ceremony that binds two individuals together for life, soul and all, bonding really does all of the above. A witch and wizard, usually at dawn, gather with family, and _maybe_ their closest friends, and pour their magic into each other. There, they twine together their magic, and push a little of their magic into each other’s core. Bonding is permanent, there is no divorce or annulment. There are many other fundamental differences, but we don’t have time for a full lecture on magical ties. The basics we’ve explained, and I’m sure there are several books on them in the school library.” Blaise soothed, as Hermione huffed at the lack of information.

“One more topic we must cover is patronage.” Hydra said, using the voice she did when teaching her younger cousins.

“I hadn’t even thought of that!” Heir Longbottom groaned.

“She might not even get to pick, depending on her sponsors.” Blaise pointed out.

“That won’t be an issue. Mama and Papa want me to choose at least one person to sponsor while I’m at school. My sister must pick a suitable husband, while my brothers have to find a woman that follows the family rules. It is my job to find someone to bring prestige to the family.” Hydra snapped her fan open, fluttering it gently.

“You mean you’ll sponsor me?” Hermione squealed.

“Of course, Hermione. You are eager to learn, you are polite, and your magic is a dark enough shade of gray that you can learn some of the family magick.” Hydra soothed. “Now, back to patronage.”

“What does that mean? Is it, like, what stores I can shop at?” Hermione tried to flutter her fan like Hydra, but struggled with the grip.

“No, that is another lesson. Patronage, in this context, refers to what deity you worship. Every family has a deity they follow. My family follows Persephone, or Kore, depending on who you ask. She goes by many names.” Hydra explained as she moved Hermione’s hand around the handle of the fan, adjusting her grip.

“My family follows Set, the Egyptian god of chaos and anarchy. I wear his symbol, and my mother bears a totem of his sacred animal, the Set beast.” Blaise pulled a necklace from under the collar of his shirt. On the leather cord was an inverted eye of Horus.

“The Longbottom’s are followers of Thor.” Neville rolled up his sleeve, showing a complex leather cuff on his wrist. It was engraved with several complex Celtic knots, and, in the center, over his pulse point, was a delicately rendered hammer of Thor.

“I don’t understand, those are just myths, aren’t they?” Hermione asked.

“To you, maybe. To us, they are gospel, just as the bible or the Koran, or countless others. I suggest not calling them ‘myths’ again, as some will take it as a personal offence. You, as an honorary member of the Addams family, will be allowed to chose your own patron, though it would be preferred if you stuck to the Greek pantheon.” Hydra pulled a nail file from her purse, and took one of Hermione’s hands in her own.

“Other families sometimes pick new-bloods just to make them follow their deity, in an attempt to form a universal religion. Now, families can only sponsor one new-blood every five years. The Weasley family was permanently banned from sponsoring, even before their fall from grace.” Blaise ruminated aloud.

“I forgot about that!” Heir Longbottom exclaimed. “You see,” he began, at the Hermione’s inquisitive look.

“about eight generations ago, the head of the family, Bilius Weasley, took to sponsoring new-blood girls, and keeping them in the dark about the difference between bonding and marriage. He then married the girls off to his sons. His sons then bonded to rich pure-blood ladies, leaving the girls no more than mistresses. One of them got really mad, and kind of went crazy.” Heir Longbottom was speaking lowly, as if scared of being overheard.

“The man had three daughters, who he adored. He had married them off to wealthy, influential lords, and had ensured they were happy and healthy. The witch, Mara, cursed the Weasley bloodline. No daughters would be born to the line for seven generations. She killed her husband and father-in-law to bind the curse. All three daughters died, each bearing only one son. Since then, due to the heavy rate of intermarriage, the number of girls born to the old families has drastically dropped. It’s why most families _hate_ the Weasleys. The curse finally expired ten years ago, with the birth of Ginevra Weasley. The witch died of magical backlash from the ritual, leaving the man’s true wife a widow, with a poor reputation.” Hermione was still, clearly processing.

“She cursed his whole family? Even his six-times great-grandchildren? That’s mad!” Hermione spluttered. “So, he messed up her life, that doesn’t mean she was right to do so!”

“Actually, that was rather tame. She could have wiped the family out instantly. I know of four curses that can end a bloodline. He did more than mess up her life, Hermione. Those who marry in the magical world are considered lesser, as any real magical can bond. To marry is to say that either you don’t love the other person enough to be with them forever, or that you are too weak to properly bond. To then bond to another is to say that they did not care for their wives. Bonding can only happen if two people love each other fully. It was a rather clever move, really.” Hydra mused as she took Hermione’s other hand.

“How?!” Hermione yelped.

“Simple. Erasing the bloodline would have killed a lot of people, yes, but what she did _ruined_ the Weasley family. She took their reputation. When her death was investigated, the authorities would look into why she performed such a dark ritual. The ministry is staffed mostly by pure-bloods, who would report their information to their Lords or Ladies. She took their money. The Weasley family has always been rather large, as patrons of Hestia, so for any women they wished to marry, they would have to pay an appropriate bride price, and with no reputation, they would receive no dowry. She took their children. To magicals, children are a gift, as we have lower fertility rates than mundanes. Through her actions, the family that ruined her was ruined as well.” Blaise drawled, polishing a dagger he had drawn from a forearm sheath.

“That’s…actually brilliant. But, why not make the curse permanent?” Hermione asked, puzzled.

“Such a ritual requires a sacrifice. She killed her husband and his father, securing seven generations of pain. To secure any more, and she would have had to double the body count. With no help, she would have had to kill them all quick, as most rituals have time limits. Killing that many that fast, you’re bound to make a mistake.” Hydra lectured, finishing Hermione’s nails. She took a small, soft cloth, and quickly buffed each one, leaving them perfectly shaped and shined.

“I’m not sure _how_ you know that, and I don’t _want_ to know.” Neville muttered.

“Ditto.” Hermione murmured.

“I agree.” Blaise said, gazing at her appraisingly.

“More the fun for me.” Hydra shrugged.


	4. Chapter 4

As the sun set, they discussed, as all incoming first years must, the matter of houses, and where they wished to go.

“I’d rather like Gryffindor. That’s where Headmaster Dumbledore went when he was a student.” Hermione had withdrawn a pair of knitting needles and a skein of black wool, and was working on a scarf, purling as she spoke.

“ugh. The old man is a fool.” Blaise’s nose was crinkled as if he had smelt something foul. “Until about twenty years ago, Hogwarts taught foreign languages and basic rituals, and every student was required to learn basic occlumency from first year to third. He canceled all of those classes, saying they were ‘too difficult for such young minds. Utter rubbish, if you ask me.” Neville glanced up from his herbology book.

“My Gran told me about that, actually. She said it made sponsoring much more difficult, as Lady Potter had to be taught everything from scratch. She also says Dumbledore is prejudiced against darker magics, even little stuff like the summoning spell or minor sacrifices. Mind, she’s rather against dark magic, but not to that extent.” He slid a bookmark into place, and set his book aside. “I rather think I’d like Gryffindor, if only to make her proud. She really wants me to be like my dad, and he was Gryffindor chaser and everything.”

“I myself will be aiming for Slytherin. A good deal of politicians and potioneers are Slytherin alumni, so it would make my life _much_ easier.”  Blaise was checking the balance on an array of daggers as he spoke, some no longer than her pinkie finger, others as long as her forearm.

“As will I. I hear that the Slytherin dorms are under the lake, and one of the walls is a large window showing the lake itself.” Hydra was working on a piece of lace, the way her Abuela had taught her. It was pushing two feet long, and her hands danced as she manipulated the threads. Maybe she could teach Hermione? She clearly knew how to knit, so it wouldn’t be too hard.

“But Professor McGonagall told my parents that Slytherin hosts dark lords and ladies.” Hermione squeaked. Hydra sighed, and set her lace aside. They really ought to host some kind of integration class for new-bloods.

“You are thinking of _black_ lords and ladies, Hermione. There is a great difference between _dark_ magic and _black_ magick. Dark magic is merely one end of the spectrum. On the opposite end, there is white magick and light magic. White magic includes healing magic and certain soul magics. Light magic is simple charms and basic transfiguration. Dark magic is more complex charms and transfiguration, usually those that affect living things. Black Magick is the unforgivable trio, or necromancy and a majority of soul magic. There is a big distinction, and confusing them will lead to only hardships in the future.” As she spoke Hydra stared Hermione in the eye. To begin blurring the lines between them was dangerous.

“So, why differentiate at all? I mean, black and dark can be used as synonyms, right? I’m just not getting this.” Hermione was growing visibly frustrated.

“See Hermione, every witch or wizard has a natural magical core. This is what lets us perform spells and rituals, and what we use to bond. Those cores are all some shade of gray. Some cores are paler than others, some darker. No core is pure white or pure black. Spells are classified based on what group would have the easiest time performing them. For example, my family is usually a darker gray, therefore, we can easily perform darker spells. One of my ancestors a few centuries ago was a summoner. He summoned minor imps and collected their tears and blood for use in rare and expensive potions. Not all darker magicals can perform those rituals, as they could crack or damage their core, which is rather dangerous. The Pomphrey family line is known for producing lighter witches and wizards, leading many to become healers and herbologists, both light-inclined professions. If I was to try a high-level healing spell, I could very well rupture my core, and such a thing would likely kill me. Do you understand?” Hydra was working her lace again, making the petals of a belladonna flower.

“I think so. How can you tell what color someone’s core is?” Hermione had set down her knitting, and had her head tilted to the side in thought.

“Well, some witches, and only witches mind, have the ability to see magic with something called ‘mage-sight’. It runs in certain families.” Blaise set aside the last of many daggers, and reached for his trunk. “Since it’s a rare talent, there are also these things called ‘mage-spectacles’. They do roughly the same thing, but are hard to make, and really expensive. They’re considered family heirlooms, and most families usually have five or six pairs. My mother gave me the heir’s pair as a birthday gift a few months ago. You can try them on, if you like. They’re pretty cool, but wearing them too long leaves a nasty headache.” He pulled out a pair of round bifocals, with tiny runes engraved all over the frames. Hermione slid the glasses over her nose, and blinked rapidly.

“That feels odd. It’s like when I got contacts the first time.” She then glanced around. “Why can I see so many colors? I thought magic was shades of gray?” She was staring at the walls of the compartment.

“Those colors aren’t cores, Hermione dear, they’re enchantments and wards, woven into the train itself. Magical cores are shades of gray, but active magic, like wards, spells, enchantments, and certain artifacts, possess an aura. Spells all have a color that would fall on the ultraviolet spectrum. Enchantments are usually one color based on what they do, with a secondary color, the same shade of gray as the enchanter’s core. Wards are almost transparent, and have three colors. One on the ultraviolet scale, one the same color as the ward-master’s core, and one that shines. Depending on how bright the third color is, you can determine how strong the wards are. I have mage sight, thanks to my mother’s family, the Frumps, so I’ve learned all of this since I was young. It can be rather complicated, determining the purpose of an enchantment or ward, due to all the potential combinations.” She tied off the last piece of the lace, and examined it.

“You have mage sight?” Neville squeaked. ‘That’s really rare in Britain, Hydra.” His eyes were huge.

“The British magical community is heavily inbred. I also have a decent amount of metamorphic abilities. Enough that if I get too emotional, I can lose control. I started occlumency rather young because of it.” There were a few uneven stitches here and there, but it wasn’t too noticeable. It would look lovely as a hair ribbon.

“The last known metamorphmagus in Britain was almost two hundred years ago.” Blaise mused.

“It’s an uncommon trait in America, but not as rare as here. Our last president of the MACUSA was a metamorphmagus, actually.” She slid the new piece of lace into her bag. She’d send it to Wednesday for her birthday in October (she was lucky enough to be born on Friday the thirteenth.).

“Yeah, Gran’s always calling most purebloods ‘in-bred fools with no sense’.” Neville seemed embarrassed.

“In Italy, it’s illegal to marry any closer than a third cousin.” Blaise remarked. “Most of the world has similar rules, to prevent magical dilution.”

“What’s that?” Hermione asked.

“It’s when too many years of in-breeding causes children to be born with weaker and weaker cores. It can even produce squibs. Sometimes babies are born with no core due to a genetic defect, but that’s different than a squib. See, squibs _have_ a core, they just can’t use it for anything. A baby born with no core is effectively a muggle, and has to be gotten rid of. A squib can be raised in our world, but most parents send the babies to orphanages, to prevent them from growing resentful of siblings and attacking them. Several families almost went extinct due to envious squib children trying to kill the heir or current head of house. Nowadays, families will have the Head of House check over a baby after it’s born to look for a core. If there isn’t one, the baby is given up. If there is, they check the development every few weeks. If it doesn’t grow right or doesn’t grow at all, the baby is given up for adoption. It’s usually out of concern for the safety of everyone involved, but some families have done it out of shame.” Neville was fiddling with the cuff on his wrist. “They think it’s a shameful thing. In all reality, it can only really be fixed by putting in laws like the ones Blaise mentioned, but the Wizengamot would never allow that. They’re a bunch of traditionalists.” He scoffed. “Gran has this saying, ‘tradition is just peer pressure from dead people’.” Hermione giggled.

“I feel like I’d like your Gran.” She managed, between laughs.

“Yeah, but you’d need to learn certain rules on behavior first, else she’d be rather rude. Gran’s not big on certain parts of tradition, but she still believes in some parts, especially manners and that stuff. It gets pretty annoying sometimes.” Hydra took note of the fact that in the four and a half hours they had been chatting, Neville rarely mentioned his parents, and even then, only his father to say how much his grandmother wanted Neville to be just like him. That was something to keep in mind. Wouldn’t want to bring up painful memories. Her Papa had gone days without getting out of bed whenever someone mentioned Uncle Fester before he had come back to them. She’d hate for her new friend to be upset with her.

“Back on the topic of houses, any thoughts on what will happed if we get separated?” Hydra was thumbing through a book on familiars, searching for a potion as she spoke.

“I don’t see why we can’t still be friends.” Hermione huffed. “It’s just houses, right?”

“Not really.” Neville winced. “Gryffindor and Slytherin _hate_ each other, Ravenclaw is viewed as stuck up loners, and Hufflepuff are thought of us a bunch of duffers. It’s pretty segregated.”

“That’s _awful_. We’re all magical, aren’t we? Why bother sorting us at all then?” Hermione huffed.

“Simply put, politics.” Blaise was packing away the daggers, some going into his trunk and others being slipped into holsters on his person. “That’s a lesson for another day though. For now, Neville and I will step out while you two get your robes on. We’ll be there soon.” Blaise and Neville stood an headed for the door. Once the door had shut, Hydra pulled the curtain, before wheeling to face Hermione.

“Hermione, I’m going to give you something and you need to make me a promise. Hydra pulled out her hairpin (which was really just a senbon) and pricked her left ring finger. She let a few drops of blood fall onto the ring she wore on her right index finger, before sticking the sore digit into her mouth. Hermione looked mildly alarmed, but Hydra pressed on. “This ring now bears Addams family blood. By wearing this, you forge a magical connection between us. If you are in danger, I will know and be able to find you, no matter where you are. You need to put this on and swear to me you shall not take it off unless I say so. When summer comes, I’ll get you a better one, but this will hold until then. Please, Hermione,” Hydra looked the brown-haired witch in the eye. “it’s important that you stay safe.” Hermione pursed her lips before taking the ring, and sliding it onto her right middle finger.

“Alright. We best get our robes on quick.” Hermione grabbed her robes from her trunk and shrugged into them. Hydra sighed.

“We’ll need to mail order you new robes. The open-fronted ones are a very mud-blood trend. New-bloods and pure-bloods always wear closed robes unless attending certain events. We can write to Twillfit and Tattings to get a few pairs sent when we reach the school. Next summer, you’re shopping with my family.” Hydra frowned. “Those will do for now, but there’s a lot we have to do. For now, let’s let the boys get changed. This was more work than she had thought.


	5. Chapter 5

The girls finished changing, and stepped out so that the boys could get ready. Hermione twisted her new ring around her finger, staring at it. This was…a relief. She had known she was a witch for a year, since her eleventh birthday. A teacher had shown up at her house, turned her mother’s favorite antique end table into a pig, and told her she was magical. She had spent the last twelve months reading all of her term books, going over and over, till she could recite them in her sleep. When Professor McGonagall had mentioned prejudice against her due to her blood, she had taken it in stride. She was a half black, half Scottish girl, who’s mother had grown up in south London. So, to find out that it was so much worse was awful. A blond boy had called her a ‘filthy mud blood’ and spit at her feet. In the magical world, open shows of such prejudice were considered wrong.

Then, Hydra appeared. She had smoothed her untamable hair, fixed her uniform, and her and Neville had taught her how best to blend in. Her parents may not be happy about this, but she had a way out now, where they wouldn’t whisper of exorcisms and demon children. Hydra tapped her on the arm, making Hermione jump.

“Hermione, we are about to come to a stop. I need to go over a few last-minute things with you. When someone introduces themselves, what do you do?”

“Refer to them by whichever name and title they provide unless they give me leave to call them by their first name. If given leave, do not refer to them by title, as it would be rude.” Hydra nodded, and Hermione beamed.

“Very good. Rules on appearance?” Hermione took a deep breath.

“Hair is to be kept smooth and pulled up at all times. Nails are to be kept a specific length, manicured, and unpainted. No cosmetics are to be worn. Skirts must cover my knees, and socks must reach one inch below the hem of my skirt.”

“Exactly right. Now, are you ready?” Hydra asked, staring Hermione down.

“No.” She winced. “But I’ve not got much choice, have I?”

“No, I suppose not. Now, let’s go.” Hydra grasped Hermione’s hand, and began briskly walking towards the nearest door. “The boys will catch up. We want to be quick, come along!”

The two girls were the first off of the train in Hogsmeade, though they were quickly enveloped by the crowd of other students.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years, this way!” A booming voice called. Hydra felt a gentle grasp on her elbow, and turned her head enough to see Blaise. He nodded, and offered her his left arm. She nodded back, and slipped her right hand into the crook of his elbow. She saw Neville in front of her offer his arm to Hermione. Hydra leaned forward and quickly whispered in her ear.

“If a gentleman offers his left arm, you are an acquaintance that he likes, or a friend. The right arm is reserved for fiancé or his lady wife. Slip your hand into his elbow, keep seven inches or seventeen centimeters between you. Fan yourself with your other hand.” Hermione shot her a grateful look and gratefully accepted Neville’s arm, flicking our her fan.

“You’re good at teaching.” Blaise commented slyly.

“Like I said, Mother made it my job to bring honor to my family via a good new blood. My sister is to find a husband who could be a good Lord for our family, and my brothers are to marry well.” She shrugged a little. “I was taught how to teach someone quickly and efficiently.”

“I got lucky. I don’t really have any duties beyond not disgracing the family name. It’s tradition for the matriarch to find my future wife, so I don’t even have to deal with that.” Hydra nodded. She knew of the Eveningshade family. They were heavily matriarchal, without even a public Lord like her family. By the time the older years had parted, Hydra was able to see a rather unusual man, taller than even Lurch with hair that would make Cousin Itt shriek.

“I bet _at least_ quarter giant, you?” She muttered behind her fan.

“Half and nothing less.” Blaise shot back. He then stepped into the delightfully rickety boat and extended a hand, before helping her in. The two sat and waited, as the giant man bellowed for no more than four to a boat. Neville stepped in next, before he and Blaise helped Hermione in. The giant man sat in a boat that creaked under him before tapping the side with a hideous pink umbrella and commanding them to go. The boats started with a lurch, before gliding smoothly through a curtain of Spanish moss hanging from a stone bridge. There was a great splash, and Hydra turned to see the red-haired boy from earlier floundering in the water.  The giant man tapped his boat again and it glided over to the boy. He muttered something to the water, and a large tentacle grabbed the boy by the back of his shabby robes. It hauled the panicking boy back up into the boat he was sharing with a blond and two rather large boys. The man tapped his boat again, and they continued across the water without further issue.

When they reached the docks, Hermione and Hydra let the boys go first, who then helped them out of the boat. They climbed a series of stairs, and stopped in front of a set of heavy wooden doors. The man knocked three times, heavy and booming. The doors opened to reveal a stern looking woman in green robes with a tartan sash, her graying auburn hair in a tight looking bun.

“Thank you, Hagrid.” She said in a thick Scottish brogue. “Well, come in!” She said to the nervous crowd. The children shuffled forwards, looking around the grand entrance. “Good evening to all of you. I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration and Head of Gryffindor house. Here at Hogwarts, we have four unique, diverse houses. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin.” Her nose wrinkled as she listed the last house. “While you are here, your house is to be your family. Your triumphs will earn your house points, and your mistakes,” She glanced at a blond boy. “will lose your house points. The house with the most points will win the House Cup at the end of the year. I will return for you shortly; in the meantime, clean yourselves up a bit.” She glanced at Weasley, who had a large smudge of dirt on his nose. McGonagall turned and walked through a heavy door, before it swung shut with a heavy thud.

They had all huddled in a large clump when a few girls near the front of the group shrieked. Hydra’s head snapped up, to watch the ghostly apparitions float through the walls.

“Really, how many more second chances can we _give_?” The fourteenth century gentleman asked the friar floating besides him.

“We must forgive our dear brother, Sir Nicholas! Why, oh, gracious! You must be the new students! How do you do?” The friar swooped down and floated right in front of the girls who had screamed. Hydra tapped her fingers against Blaise’s arm, and the two glided through the crowd.

“Good evening, friar. My name is Heir Blaise Eveningshade-Zabini. This is Lady Hydra Addams. We are quite well this evening, and you?” Blaise smoothly introduced.

“I am well, thank you for asking, Heir Eveningshade-Zabini. You wouldn’t happen to be part of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Addams, would you?” The friar asked.

“Indeed friar. Might I inquire your name? It seems the polite thing to do.”

“My name is Friar James Mansfield, of the order of Saint Augustine. It is a pleasure to meet you both. I do hope to see you both in Hufflepuff. My old house, you know.” He nodded cordially, and floated away through the wall.

“What a delightful fellow.” Hydra hummed.

“Indeed.” Blaise said.

Professor McGonagall returned, carrying a large scroll.

“This way, children. Follow me.” She said, before flinging open the door to the great hall. Hydra heard those behind her gasp as the hall was revealed. There were four long wooden tables, each covered in empty dishes, either in silver or gold depending on the table. On a raised dais was a fifth table, with an old man wearing garish robes seated in an ornate throne in the middle. Set in front of the staff table, at the edge of the dais, was a rickety looking tripod stool. Hundreds of older students were staring at them, and Hydra merely stared up at the ceiling.

“It’s enchanted to look like the night sky.” She heard Hermione whisper to a shaking Neville. She slid her arm from Blaise’s elbow, and carefully reached back to tap Hermione.

“Let go of Neville, I’ll explain later.” Hermione shot her an inquisitive look, but did as she was told.

Sitting on the dais in front of the teacher’s table was a rickety looking tripod stool. Next to the stool stood McGonagall, holding a ratty looking hat. She set that hat on the stool, and it began to sing.

“Oh you may not think I’m pretty,

But don’t judge on what you see.

I’ll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I’m the Hogwarts sorting hat,

And I can cap them all!

There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;  
  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil;  
  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
if you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folks use any means  
To achieve their ends.  


So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

There was a smattering of polite applause, before McGonagall cleared her throat and unrolled the scroll.

“Abbot, Hannah!” She called, and a small girl with blonde pigtails jogged up to the platform, and plopped onto the stool. The hat seemed to debate with itself for a few moments before calling out for the whole hall to hear.

“Better be…HUFFLEPUFF!” the table under the badger banner burst into applause, welcoming their newest member. The girl handed the hat to the Scotswoman, and ran to the table. Hydra was next.


	6. Chapter 6

Hydra calmly walked to the front of the hall, head high and shoulders back. She sat on the stool, and closed her eyes as the hat was set on her head. She hoped it wouldn’t mess up her hair.

 _I’ll do no such thing, Lady Hydra._ A voice called into her mind.

 _Are you, perhaps, enchanted?_ She pushed the thought out past her shields.

_Indeed, I am! My name is Alistair, young ma’am. May I access your memories, just enough to sort you properly._

_I’d rather not, but I understand necessity._ She lowered her shields a crack, just enough for a ligilimency probe to slip in. She felt something akin to rustling fabric, listening to the Alistair’s mutterings.

_Hmm, not a bad mind, but you would be furious with the no-interference policy of the Ravens. Vastly loyal, but only to those you consider family. Brave and courageous, but you would slaughter the lions. Better be…._

_“_ SLYTHERIN!!” The hat bellowed, and Alistair was pulled from her head. She stood and walked towards the house decked out in green, while the next student strode forward, being sorted Ravenclaw. It went on like that for a few minutes, until it was Hermione’s turn.

She strode up to the stool with purpose, head high and shoulders back. As she sat on the stool, her eyes sought out Hydra’s. Hydra nodded to her, and the hat sagged on Hermione’s head. After several minutes of deliberation, the hat bellowed again.

“Alright, alright! Then it’ll be SLYTHERIN!” The table under the snake banner clapped softly. Hermione stood with dignity and grace, handed off the hat, and walked over to the table, where she sat at the end. Next of their group was Neville, who shook as he sat. The hat sat for a little less time than it had with Hermione, before declaring.

“This one for SLYTHERIN!” Neville was deathly pale, and barley made it to the Slytherin table before his legs gave out, depositing him next to Hermione.

“Congrats, Longbottom.” A second year commented. “Your mother’s family has been in Slytherin for the last twelve generations, making you lucky number thirteen.”

“I thought thirteen was unlucky?” Hermione murmured.

“Not in the magic world, Hermione.” Hydra hummed. “Due to a great deal of propaganda by the Christian church, several important things to our people are considered bad luck or even evil. Black cats, snakes, the numbers thirteen and seven, Fridays even. We’ll discuss that more later.” Hermione nodded, seeming lost in thought. “For now, watch.” Hydra gestured to the front, where some blond was being sorted. The hat had barely touched his head when it called out.

“SLYTHERIN!!” The blond walked over to the table, and sat, smirking. He caught sight of Hermione and scowled. He sat silent for the rest of the sorting, all the way until Blaise joined them in Slytherin. The moment it was done he slammed a hand on the table.

“What is a _mud-blood_ doing in the great house of Salazar Slytherin?” Hermione looked enraged, and her eyes were starting to water.

“Have you no manners, Malfoy?” One of the older girls hissed. “She could be a half-blood, or even a new-blood, but you haven’t even introduced yourself to a lady yet?” The pale boy went scarlet, and Hermione looked to be debating herself. Hydra quickly leaned over and whispered to her.

“Don’t introduce yourself, let Blaise introduce us. I’ll explain later.” She kept her fan in front of her face, hiding what she said. Dumbledore finished his speech, and food appeared on the table.

“Heir Malfoy, may I introduce my companions.” Blaise interjected.

“You may.” The blond muttered.

“This is the Lady Hydra Addams, of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Addams.” Hydra nodded her head, pouring herself a glass of water and adding a few drops of hemlock.

“A pleasure.” She demurred.

“Likewise.” He bit out.

“And this, is Miss Hermione Granger, new-blood of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Addams.”

“A pleasure.” Hermione copied.

“All mine.” The blond murmured, face pale. It didn’t shock Hydra. To insinuate a new-blood was a mud-blood was a grave insult.

“Where do you come from, Miss Granger?” One of the older boys asked.

“I’m from Northern London, though my family has a few estates. My father is a Marquis, my mother a French immigrant.” Several of the purebloods nodded. Many had French roots, many families often sending children to study one year at Beauxbatons as a way to encourage foreign relations. For the girl to be related to one so high in the muggle gentry meant she had some lessons in comportment at least. Lady Hydra had made a good choice, the girl would bring honor to her sponsors.

Dinner passed in relative peace, the older students asking the first years questions about themselves, attempting to foster relationships with future business partners.

“So, Lady Hydra, your family is from America, correct? Have you noticed any cultural differences so far?” One of the older boys asked. He had a badge on his robe marking him as quidditch captain.

“The British community doesn’t have an assigned sponsor for mud-bloods, or even an integration class. MACUSA introduced one almost fifty years ago at all three schools. And that’s another difference. In America, we have three schools, Ilvermorny, Salem Witches Institute, and New York Magical Academy. All three have the same curriculum, and teachers rotate between the schools every year, to provide the students a more diverse education. My family is excused from being assigned a mud-blood by having me choose a new-blood while I’m here. I’ve already chosen Hermione, as she has untapped potential.”  Several of the students nodded. The girl really was a perfect candidate for sponsorship. The conversation continued in this vain, the older years questioning the first years, until the Headmaster stood, clapping his hands.

“Now that we are all fed and watered, it is time we retired, as classes start in just two days. First years, your prefects will escort you to your respective houses. And with that, I bid you, a good night!” There was a smattering of polite applause. The two sixth years seated closest to the first years stood, clapping to grab attention.

“First years! I’m Lady Verity Emmerson, your female sixth year prefect. The fifth- and seventh-year prefects only have to do patrols, but if there’s an emergency you can go to them.”

“I’m Heir Fletcher Luther, your male fifth year prefect. Follow us, we’ll tell you the rules of Slytherin in the common room.” The two prefects flanked the huddle of first years, flinging up shields around them. They guided them through a series of corridors, narrating the whole way.

“A left here, two rights, and then through this fake wall.” Heir Luther, pulled out his wand and tapped a single brick three times, making the wall fade away like the entrance to Diagon. He led them around a few more corners, before pausing in front of a painting. “The password is ‘homestead’. Don’t forget it, no one will help you get in.” The portrait, a man wrapped in the coils of a basilisk, slid to the side, baring the entry to the common room.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-work of an old fic on my FF.net account. You can read the old version there.  
> Reviews feed the motivation monster!


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